


despite everything we'll still be here

by tea_at_twilight_time



Series: twily's tma hurt/comfort week fics [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Miscommunication, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Oh also, Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues, The Magnus Archives Hurt/Comfort Week, and some minor instances of actual self harm, and then real communication! yay!, i know this is late don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me hlskafjasldkf, it's not particularly relevant but yes it is, just not cutting, let me know if this needs more specific tagging, my bad lmao, ngl this is kinda hard to tag i feel like i'm not properly warning for it, poor jon baby :(, so like, this is actually more post archives promotion precanon, uh wait slight tag correction bc i'm stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_at_twilight_time/pseuds/tea_at_twilight_time
Summary: a slight misunderstanding sends jon spiraling.....and spiraling....and spiraling....luckily his caregivers are there to sort things out.(written for tma hurt/comfort week day one, based loosely on the prompts self-worth issues + pretend  + shaky hands)
Relationships: Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Series: twily's tma hurt/comfort week fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908121
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	despite everything we'll still be here

**Author's Note:**

> ngl i didn't initially intend to do day one of this week but then i got an idea for it and then this turned into a whole bunch of projection good lord so much projection i did not think i was capable of projecting this hard and YET 
> 
> anyway yeah a good portion of this was written while i was having a Rough Time so hopefully it hasn't turned out awful asfdhklsjfk alright here we go

Jon knows that his time being Sasha and Tim’s baby is limited. 

One day they’re going to be done with him. One day they’re going to want their own, real family, with their own, real children, and Jon’s certain he won’t be a part of that equation. And that’s...fine. He’s made his peace with that. 

But with his new promotion it’s starting to feel more and more like they’re just pretending to still care about him. That they’re getting closer and closer to telling them they want to drop it, that he’s too grown up to still be acting like this. And the worst thing is that they’d be _right_. He’s pushing thirty, for Christ’s sake—there’s no excuse for him acting like a needy infant who depends so desperately on his friends to take care of him. 

That’s why he’s trying to be low maintenance today. Tim and Sasha are tired, he could tell by their faces, and the way they were all quiet when they came to pick him up. They barely even smiled at him when they said hello, and he knows it’s his fault. He shouldn’t have asked to be taken care of this weekend, he should’ve known better than that, so now that the least he could do is try to stay out of their way as much as possible. 

As soon as they get him dressed up in a onesie and a nappy, he sets himself up in a little corner, surrounded by his blocks and his stuffed bunny, Mr. Periwinkle (named for his similar color scheme to Periwinkle from Blue’s Clues). His star blanket is tucked over his shoulders, and it’s almost enough to waver his desire to be held. 

Almost. Tim’s lap looks incredibly inviting as he watches both him and the television from his place on the couch, but Jon doesn’t dare to crawl over to him. Tim is probably tired with him right now. He doesn’t deserve to be cuddled. 

Instead, he puts his focus into building. His hands tremble slightly as he tries to build up a castle, starting with a line of long blocks on the bottom and stacking up various cube and arch-shaped blocks to build up the wall. It’s a delicate process, especially since Jon’s hands just won’t steady themselves, but he’s managing to make some progress regardless. 

Still, it’s only so much of a distraction. The room is painfully quiet, aside from the soft noise of the TV and the sound of Sasha making breakfast in the kitchen. Jon shifts uncomfortably, looking over at Tim nervously. He’s still staring at the TV, but he does briefly glance over and catches Jon’s eye, offering him the smallest of smiles. 

Jon swallows, wringing his hands and sitting up on his haunches. “Castle, Papa,” he says, unsure of whether he means it as an invitation to join him or as a simple observation. Still, it’s the only thing he can think to say, so it has to do. 

It at least earns a slightly more genuine smile from Tim. “Yeah, little guy,” he says softly. “It’s a castle.” 

Jon gives him a weak smile in return. However, a sinking feeling soon settles in his belly as Tim turns back to the screen, apparently uninterested in Jon’s little structure. 

And honestly, Jon almost can’t blame him. It stings, Papa’s rejection hurts more than anything, but Jon’s pathetic block creation really is nothing special. It’s nothing he hasn’t made a million times before, a shoddily crafted reimagining of the same castle he always tries to build. God, no wonder they’re getting sick of him, their time together must get so _fucking_ repetitive. 

Jon shakes his head, trying to fight the stinging in his eyes. No, no, he shouldn’t be thinking bad words. He’s too small for that, and, well, he’s already a horrible kid even without swearing. 

It just...it _hurts_. Wetness wells up in his eyes, and he draws his knees to his chest and rocks himself back and forth. He grabs Mr. Periwinkle and buries his face in his fluffy chest, letting him soak up what tears he’s not quite able to hold back. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but eventually, a gentle tap to his shoulder breaks him out of his silent crying. He lifts his head to find Tim staring down at him, and he quickly scrubs the tears off of his cheeks. 

Tim still catches sight of them, though, and he frowns. “Oh. Hey buddy...you doing okay there?” 

Jon hesitates, before nodding. But then his chest constricts painfully, more tears flowing out of his eyes unbidden, and he quickly shakes his head and lets out a tiny sob. 

“Aww, buddy…” Tim murmurs, getting down on his knees in front of him. “I’m sorry. Is there anything—” 

Tim is reaching for him as he speaks, but Jon can feel anger suddenly welling up in his chest. Of course, it’s not Papa’s fault he doesn’t want anything to do with him, it’s not _his_ fault Jon’s upset, but Jon can’t help but be mad at him for it still. He swats at Tim’s hand and hisses, backing himself further into the corner. 

“Wh—hey!” Tim cries in surprise, drawing his hand away and looking at him with wide eyes. “What’s that for, pups?” 

He doesn’t sound mad, just surprised. Unfortunately, that just serves to make Jon feel even _angrier_. Angry with himself, angry at Papa, hell, angry at Mama too, and she’s not even in the stupid room. He scowls, scrubbing at his tears with his hand before tugging at his hair harshly. 

“Oh, honey, don’t hurt yourself…” 

“Go _‘way_ ,” Jon snaps before he can stop himself, scrubbing away more tears. “Go ‘way!” 

Tim looks even more shocked, but he concedes, lifting his hands placatingly. “Okay. Alright. If that’s what you need right now,” he says, looking unsure about it. Still, he raises to his feet, giving Jon a small attempt at a comforting smile. “Mama’s finished making breakfast, so if you want to join us, we’ll be in the dining room, okay?” 

Jon wants to scream. He feels like a monster. He wants Papa to stop being so nice to him, to hit him, call him names, _something_ so that he doesn’t feel like he’s a bad baby for feeling so hurt by him. Because, in the end, it’s not like he’s even _done_ anything. Jon’s just being petty. 

Still, he doesn’t want to see him right now. He curls in on himself, makes a noise that could be construed as one of agreement, and goes back to rocking himself. 

“Okay sweetheart,” Tim says softly, uncertainly. “I’ll be back soon, if you, y’know. Decide to stay here.” 

Jon doesn’t say anything. Tim hovers for a few moments more, before finally leaving the room. 

And that’s when Jon breaks down and properly cries. 

* * *

Jon’s alone for what feels like hours. 

It can’t have been that long, but his misery prolongs the seconds, making him feel more and more unwanted as time passes. He grows hungry and lonely in tandem with each other, and he starts to regret not letting Tim take him to breakfast. 

The thought of joining them now makes him feel sick, though. _It’s too late. If they wanted me they would’ve come and got me._ And that’s saying nothing of the way he feels glued to his spot, stuck in the corner in the uncomfortable position he’s folded himself into. 

It’s when he starts to fantasize about cutting himself open that someone finally comes back into the room, easily making their way over to him and sitting down next to him. He can’t bring himself to look up at them, even when their hand starts to card lightly through his hair, and the tears start all over again, joining the ones that have already dried into a sticky mess on his cheeks. His shoulders start to shake with held back sobs, and the hand moves from his hair to his shoulder. 

“Oh baby,” Mama says, her voice soft. “My baby…” 

Jon lets out a full sob this time. All the anger he felt before has since melted into pain, and his body convulses as with quiet cries as he digs his nails into where he’s clutching onto his legs. 

Suddenly, there are arms: one under his knees, and the other moving from his shoulder to wrap around his back. Mama lifts him up easily into her lap, adjusting him so that he’s pressed against her, his head tucked under her chin and his face buried in her chest. One of her hands returns to his hair, and she starts to rock him easily, a more comforting version of the way he’d rocked himself not even an hour ago. 

His chest feels like it’s breaking open as he wails into her sweater, tears streaming down his cheeks and forming a wet patch in the fabric. His chest and belly convulse harshly with his sobs, and it feels like he might throw up, even though there’s nothing in his tummy to purge. It just aches. Everything _aches._

“S’okay, precious. Mama’s here,” Mama murmurs, rubbing his back and petting his hair. She presses a kiss to the top of his head and squeezes him tightly. “I’m here.” 

“S’rry,” he slurs, even though the word strains his chest. Then: “Hur’s…” 

“I know, baby,” Mama whispers, pressing another kiss to his head. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Papa said you’re upset about something, and, well...seems like it’s still rattling you.” 

Jon shivers, thinking of what he’d said to Papa filling him with an indescribably painful feeling. It’s like guilt and frustration and grief all blended together into a horrible smoothie, and said smoothie is now sitting in the bottom of his stomach, making him want to puke. He hiccups, rubbing his face on Mama’s shoulder, trying to stop crying long enough to answer her. 

Not that he really knows what he wants to say anyway. The reasons are simultaneously everything and nothing, and he doesn’t know if he can even form words at all at the moment, teetering dangerously toward a nonverbal headspace. 

“It’s okay, ducky, take a deep breath,” Mama says, bringing his attention to the fact he’s hyperventilating. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. Just breathe with me, alright? Breathe for Mama.” 

Right. Right, okay. He can do that. He wants to make her proud, he’s causing so much trouble right now, it’s the least she deserves. _So much for being low maintenance._

“Jon, honey, focus on me, okay?” Mama shifts him so that his ear is pressed against her chest, and he shifts a little so that he can hear her heartbeat. Her breaths are slow and exaggerated, making it easier for him to breathe along with her as her chest rises and falls. 

Eventually, his hiccups and sobs slow, his crying reduced to tears rolling lazily down his cheeks. Snot leaks out of his nose, and Mama pulls a tissue out of her pocket and wipes it away. 

“You ‘n Papa gettin’ sick’a me?” he asks, his voice cracking as he speaks. 

Mama pauses, tilting his chin up so that he’s looking her in the face. “Is that what this is about?” she asks, her voice soft. 

Jon looks down at his lap, where Mr. Periwinkle resides. Shame causes his face to burn, and he nods, reaching up with a little fist and rubbing his eye. “S-seemed mad when y’picked me up…’n Papa was…” 

He suddenly digs his fist into his eye, the pain meant as punishment for his childish antics. _Papa wasn’t interested in my castle._ How _stupid_ was that? He really was a pathetic, dumb, petty little baby. He has no right to be so selfish. 

“Jon,” Mama says softly, her hand wrapping around his fist and prying it from his eye socket. “Don’t hurt yourself, love, okay?” She presses his knuckles to her lips, and then wraps her arms around him and squeezes him tightly. “We are _not_ sick of you, I promise, baby. And I am _so_ sorry that we hurt you.” 

Jon hiccups, burying his face into her chest. “S-s’rry! Didn’...mmm…” He gasps, his breath hitching. “Don’ wanna make y’feel bad…!” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Mama murmurs, kissing the crown of his head and laying her cheek on his hair. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“Hur’ m’self,” he whispers, “hi’ Papa…s-snapped at ‘im...” 

“I’m not going to punish you for hurting yourself,” Mama says soothingly, stroking her hand through his hair. “I could never be mad at you for that, oh honey...” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “With Papa...I can’t really speak for him, I wasn’t there when it happened, so...is it alright if we talk about this further with him? He’s worried sick about you.” 

Jon whimpers. Still, he gives a shaky nod, his body trembling with nerves. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mama says gently. She lets him set Mr. Periwinkle down on the blanket (so he doesn’t get sticky with food) before scooping him up into her arms and getting to her feet. 

Jon clings to her tightly, keeping his eyes screwed shut as she carries him into the kitchen. The smell of breakfast hits him before anything else, and his empty stomach churns with both nausea and hunger. He whimpers again, peeking out at the table. 

There’s pancakes there. Chocolate chip. His favorite. 

And on the other side of the table there’s Papa, staring at him with wide, concerned eyes. 

The sight almost sends him crying all over again, but Mama sets him in her lap and kisses the corner of his mouth, squeezing him close to his chest. “It’s okay baby,” she says, stroking soggy strands of hair out of his eyes. “We’re just gonna talk about this and then I’ll feed you, okay?” 

Jon sniffles, slumping into Mama’s chest and staring at Papa guiltily. “‘m sorry,” he whispers, his fingers curling into her sweater. “Sorry…” 

“Jon, it’s...it’s okay,” Papa says, leaning forward slightly. “Honey, can you tell me what happened? I just want to know why you’re upset. I want—I want to work this out.” 

Jon shivers, uncurling from Mama’s chest to trace the patterns on the table and look Papa more squarely in the face. He could at least make an attempt to properly look at him, given what a fuss he’s causing. 

“Mm...felt...thought y’didn’ like me ‘nymore,” he mumbles, his resolve crumbling as he stares back down at the table. “An’ that y’didn’ care ‘bout me ‘nymore.” 

“Oh, honey,” Papa whispers, and Jon hiccups, nearly starting to cry all over again. 

“‘m s’rry! ‘m, ‘m a bad kid…” 

“You’re not,” Papa says quickly, sharing a brief look with Mama. He slides his hand across the table, drumming his fingers lightly. “You’re not a bad kid, Jon.” 

“Hi’ you!” Jon insists, the tears building up again. 

“You swatted at me,” Papa says, “lightly. It’s really not that big a deal, you didn’t hurt me.” 

Jon whimpers, collapsing face-first onto the table so hard he can feel Mama flinch underneath him. “Yelled,” he insists, even as Mama maneuvers him back into a sitting position. “Se’fish.” _Why aren’t you more mad at me?_

“You’re not. You’re not selfish, baby,” Papa says, stubborn as ever. “Why did you think we didn’t want you anymore?” 

Jon shakes his head, pushing at Mama’s hands so he can drive his head back against the table. He wants to make himself _hurt_. Unfortunately, she seems very determined to not let him do that. 

“He said we seemed angry when we picked him up,” Mama explains, brushing strands of his hair back, holding him a bit tighter. 

Jon sobs, frustrated that he’s about to cry _again_. “Papa didn’ like m’castle!” he wails, and he hates himself all the more for it. All of this over _nothing_. 

“Oh,” Papa says quietly. “Oh, Jon, baby…” 

“S’rry,” he whispers, grabbing onto Mama’s arm, clinging to her bicep. “S’rry...s’ _stupid_ …” 

“It’s not stupid. You’re not stupid,” Papa murmurs, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize it was so important to you, I’m sorry baby.” 

Jon huffs, hiding his face in Mama’s arm fully. It wasn’t, though. It wasn’t important at all, he just… 

Well, he doesn’t even know. He was just upset. 

Suddenly, he pushes Mama’s arm out of the way and stumbles to his feet, waddling over to Papa and throwing his arms around him. He faceplants into his shoulder and whimpers softly into his sleeve, nuzzling into his warmth. 

“Hey honey,” Papa murmurs, turning in his seat to properly wrap his arms around him in turn. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

“S’rry,” Jon whispers, unable to stop himself. “Papa, ‘m s’rry…” 

“S’okay,” Papa whispers, stroking his hair in that soothing way he does. “Seriously, you’re okay.” 

“Se’fish,” Jon mumbles, pressing his face into Papa’s neck. 

“No, no. Not selfish, Jon. Not selfish at all.” Papa hums, rubbing his cheek against the top of Jon’s head. “I understand why you felt so...neglected. And I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I don’t want that to happen again, I mean it.” 

Jon hiccups, digging his fingers into the back of Papa’s shirt. Papa shouldn’t feel so bad. It wasn’t his fault. None of of this was his fault, it’s all _Jon’s_ , for being a dumb, stupid, selfish baby. _He_ knows that. Papa should know that, too. 

“‘s…’s my fault,” he whispers insistently. 

“Lord, I can practically feel your self hatred radiating off of you,” Papa mumbles, tightening his grip on him. “No, Jon, it’s not...it’s not your fault. It’s mine, really, I should’ve...I should’ve realized you were upset.” 

Mama sighs. “I don’t think it’s either of your faults, really,” she says softly. “I think this was just...a failure of communication. On all ends. Which reminds me, Jon, sweetie? Can you look at me?” 

Jon turns his head a little to face her, seeing her fond, sad smile as she looks at him. He shifts nervously, and Papa is quick to scoop him up, setting him on his lap so Jon can stay close while he looks at Mama. 

Mama hums, shifting her legs a bit. “I know it’s sometimes hard for you to talk to us when you feel upset,” she says gently, her voice soft. “But next time, could you try and tell us when something’s wrong before it gets so bad? It really scares us when you get really upset, especially since…” 

She swallows, taking a deep breath. Jon looks away, already knowing what she’s going to say. 

“S’rry,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay, precious. It’s just...sometimes we think you might start hurting yourself,” she says, having the decency to not add an _again_. “That really scares us, you know? And even without that fear, we don’t want you to be in pain. It hurts us to know that we hurt you, even accidentally.” 

Jon swallows, guilt seeping into his stomach. “S’rry…s’rry!” he whimpers, nodding quickly. “Try it, p’omise!” 

Papa squeezes him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you, sweet pea,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “I know it’s hard. _We_ know it’s hard, but we just...we want to take care of you as best we can. But you gotta help us out with that, okay? You gotta let us know when you need something. And we’ll try to help you with that, too.” 

“We’ll try to ask you more questions about how you’re feeling,” Mama elaborates. “And try to let you know what we’re feeling too, so your brain doesn’t make scary assumptions. Does that sound okay, honey?” 

“Y-yeah,” Jon croaks. “‘s good...t’ank you…” 

“You’re welcome, baby,” Papa murmurs, giving him a tight squeeze. “You’re our special little boy, you know that? We love you so, so, _so_ much. We just want to do our best for you.” 

“Love ‘ou too,” Jon whispers, feeling inclined to believe him, even if he still feels awful. He drops his head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “Head hur’s, Papa.” 

Mama hums from across the table. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you?” 

Jon shakes his head. Papa huffs out a laugh, soft and gentle. 

“Let’s get you fed, little one. Any more rough conversations can happen after you feel big and more stable, mmkay?” 

Jon nods, letting Papa maneuver him so his back is pressed against his chest. That sounds nice. He still feels a little bad, the feelings lingering uncomfortably in his ribcage, but he doesn’t want to think about it anymore, not right now. Not while Mama’s putting pancakes she’d saved for him on a plate, pouring a generous amount of syrup on them, and both of Papa’s arms are around him, holding him tight. One of his thumbs subconsciously rubs little circles against his skin, through the fabric of the onesie, and Jon lets himself accept the fact that he _is_ loved, even if it didn’t feel that way this morning. 

Hesitantly, he asks, “Whip c’eam, Mama?” 

And Mama smiles back at him, and she nods. 

And all is okay, at least for the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> um. so. ngl i'm very embarrassed about how late this is hasdklfjasdklf. there are still? a couple more prompts from this week that i wanna do but idk when or if they're going to get out so?? honestly trying to rush myself to finish these has caused me to burn out a bit so i might put them on the backburner since fuck it they're already so late and i have other things i wanna work on (hey remember tlmdaaca?? oof). idk we'll see what happens i guess :0 
> 
> anyway i forgot to plug my tumblr last fic because i was ashamed so here feel free to @ me @[twi-writes](https://twi-writes.tumblr.com/) cuz allegedly i do stuff on there! :'D


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